


Branches and vines

by JustaVeryCuddlyPerson



Category: Pokemon GO
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Blanche-centric, Especially this one, Friendship, Gen, I dunno I just really wanted to explore a darker side of these guys, I felt like I did better at this one because I relate more, I mean yeah there are a lot of fan arts focusing on the cutsie stuff, I'm happy with how it turned out, Insecurities, and I'm putting my own interpretation up there, and rather invigorating after a while with none, but what about the darkness?, elements of hurt/comfort I suppose, i dunno man I just wanna know, im actually really liking this so far, im getting an unusual amount of inspiration and plot bunnies from these three, it's excellent, only my second non-poem fic!, really happy, the insecurities that keep them up at night?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustaVeryCuddlyPerson/pseuds/JustaVeryCuddlyPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blanche reflects on her insecurities, welcoming the gaping maw before the light comes in, and rescues her from her self imposed darkness. True, friendship eluded her, and did so frequently, but she was glad of what she had.</p><p>It- he- really was her saving grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branches and vines

Blanche is usually fine with her coldness, and the awkwardness which lies beneath, but sometimes- when a recruit turned around, headed for team valour or team instinct- or perhaps something greater- it made made her feel bad, and opened a pit of self loathing into which she was swallowed- a gaping maw waiting to claim her soul.

Which in turn made her feel worse. It wasn't the kid's fault- none of it was. She just had abandonment issues- deep seeded- which had been planted long before the unwary recruit came along. 

That tree thrived.

Sometimes, the branches of that seed grew long, winding around her, set to ensnare. This insecurity in particular was just the best fertiliser.

Of course, she'd shove it down till the end of the day, wait until she got some place more effectual until she could let out her tears, her melancholy. Tonight, that place was at her table, staring at a mug of coffee, eyes glazed and hands clinging to the warmth of the pale ceramic.

Honestly, if she had to pin the root of the cause, she'd blame her early childhood, and the years since spent in schools trying to build friendships- oft to ill effect. She never was very skilled with words.

Often, they got sick of her before she'd even tried.

She remembered one day- there was a match at her old high school, though she'd only recently moved at the time. Two students versing their Pokemon in a match, surrounded by students and teachers in the gym, as was lunch time custom. She'd asked a boy in her home room- his name lost to her now- if she could hang out with him at lunch, as she knew no one else. He'd told her he was helping keep score of the match.

She still vividly remembered looking across the crowded populace to see the short boy on the shoulders of his taller, grinning companion. 

She had to give it to him though- he did sound genuinely hesitant, perhaps even apologetic when he'd told her that lie. She remembers it feeling like he was walking away, able to visualise his back turning to her as he waded into the blackness, never to be seen again. 

He didn't want to be seen. Not by her.

Being told later that another boy, one she'd talked to a few times, was trying to get away from her in conversation, much to her obliviousness. He'd been grimacing at her friend from above her- at the time- short head.

When would she ever learn? 

Sometimes though, like now, Spark would visit her, dropping in (oftentimes unexpectedly) and taking one, long look at her glazed eyes and then-cool mug, and know. Hand held out, he'd smile- though lines would crease his face and concern would emanate out from around his eyes and the general criss cross his fondness for her would cut into his features.

She'd smile, just slightly, through her watery eyes, taking his hand as she stood up, and they would go out and talk, softly, or just sit there and stare at the sky with an ease and comfort that came from many years of friendship.

Sometimes, that tree died.

Everyone needed their gardeners to cut them out of the snares, and Spark was her shining light, his hand coming to her like that of the gardener's with the shears, reaching out to cut the snares away from her entrapped body.

She really was glad of her friendship with Spark. And no matter her insecurities, the voices that would sometimes tell her - nag her, even, dancing ugly, dark little jitters around her head like tiny, blackened venonats- to cut it off, to save herself before she got in too deep.

She'd never give it up for all the world.

And she knew, from other times with Spark, where she'd helped him through the sorrows, that the feeling was mutual- she would rid him of the vines strangling his heart, and he in turn would shear off the little, nasty branches clutching at her own.


End file.
